


much more

by flootzavut



Series: liminal spaces [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous Relationship, Blanket Permission, Friendship, Geralt is a dumbass, Geralt is falling in love he just hasn't noticed yet, Hair Braiding, Jaskier absolutely knows he's in love and forgets to hide it, Jaskier | Dandelion singing, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Podfic Available, Queer Themes, Sharing a Bed, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Yearning, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:16:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22441678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flootzavut/pseuds/flootzavut
Summary: "Smelling of horse and leaf litter is better than the risk of spending the night in a stable with Jaskier grumbling."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: liminal spaces [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1610095
Comments: 54
Kudos: 801





	much more

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alleyesonthehindenburg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alleyesonthehindenburg/gifts).



* * *

_**much more** _

* * *

They arrive too late for Jaskier to work his charm on the other patrons, so although they can afford a room, Geralt can't justify a bath merely for road dust and the detritus of two days sleeping rough in the forest. The proprietor looks as if even the request would make him send them out to join Roach, and while Geralt can sleep anywhere, Jaskier will give him those sad eyes, and it isn't worth the hassle. Smelling of horse and leaf litter is better than the risk of spending the night in a stable with Jaskier grumbling.

They're quieter than usual as they settle into the room - even Jaskier has run out of words for the day. Geralt is glad to shed the outer layers of his clothing, and simply rinsing his hands and face in the basin of barely tepid water is welcome; it makes him feel slightly less grimy.

He sits down to rummage through his pack, pushing his hair back when it gets his face and grimacing when his fingers get caught in a knot. It shouldn't bother him, at least it's not selkiemore guts or an actual wound, but when he's tired, Witcher stamina worn down by too many fights and not enough sleep, even minor annoyances are enough to rile him. He tries again, and swears when the tangle somehow seems worse than before.

"Here, let me," Jaskier says, appearing behind Geralt and gently slapping Geralt's hands away, as if he has every right, as if he's done this a thousand times before.

Geralt's too surprised to protest or even react, and it takes him a moment to figure out what exactly Jaskier's doing. Jaskier gathers his hair in both hands, pulling out a twig here and a leaf there, then they're _in_ Geralt's hair, careful and gentle as he finds knots and tangles and teases them apart.

Geralt blinks, grateful there's no mirror, that Jaskier's safely behind him and can't see his reaction. He's not even sure himself of what his reaction is, what might be showing on his face beyond shock and confusion. He'd rather not know, let alone let Jaskier see.

It's... nice, though.

Usually Geralt forces his hair to cooperate when he has the chance for a bath, sometimes borrowing Roach's brushes when things get desperate. It's a battle, never something so... kind. In all his long life, he doesn't recall anyone _tending_ to him like this.

Jaskier starts humming as he works, not a song Geralt recognises, something sweet yet plaintive; Geralt can't tell if it's supposed to be happy or not, but it is beautiful. The candle flame flickers, the music and the light and Jaskier's clever fingers in his hair blending into an impression of warmth and comfort. Geralt's eyes slip closed without his meaning them to as he tries to follow Jaskier's melody, and if he didn't know Jaskier as well as he does, he'd worry he was being tricked, lured into a trap for some nefarious purpose, put under a spell.

But it's Jaskier, and that's unimaginable. Geralt is as safe as he's ever been.

His lack of complaint about the humming must embolden Jaskier, who eventually starts singing properly. Still no discernible words - maybe it's something he hasn't finished writing yet - but clear and tuneful as a lark. Geralt rarely gives Jaskier compliments, but in his head, if nowhere else, he can admit he enjoys Jaskier's singing, especially when it isn't a ballad crediting Geralt with semi-fictional exploits.

If it weren't so mournful, Geralt would guess from the emotion Jaskier puts into the melody that it must be a love song. Then, it could be both; this is _Jaskier_ , after all, and it would hardly be surprising if he wrote a song about a broken heart. If Geralt asked, he'd no doubt get the whole sordid tale, but he really isn't interested in hearing about Jaskier's exploits at the best of times. Just now, in this quiet, unexpectedly perfect moment, he'd far rather enjoy it without needing to understand.

"There," Jaskier says at last, "that's better." His voice is low and slightly husky; Geralt doesn't look at him, but reaches up to touch his hair only to meet Jaskier's hands. Their fingers tangle inadvertently. Jaskier makes a noise, uncertain, almost pained, and Geralt lets go.

"Thank you," he says roughly, both wishing he knew how to say it sweeter and grateful for the way the rasp of his voice covers up the sudden tightness in his throat.

Jaskier's hands fall lightly to his shoulders for a second, before he snatches them away as if burned. "I- I hope you'll be more comfortable," he says, then crosses the room to blow out the candle and curl into his side of the bed.

Geralt's both certain he's done something wrong and has no idea what. Experience says Jaskier's hiding in the dark like a small creature in the forest, that asking won't clarify a thing, so Geralt doesn't ask, and doesn't point out that Jaskier can't hide from him by snuffing a candle.

He combs his fingers through his hair and touches the slender braid Jaskier has made at the back of his head. Slowly and thoughtfully, he gets undressed, and when he climbs into the narrow bed, he doesn't try to leave space between them.

Jaskier's breath hitches; tentatively, Geralt touches his hip, as much of an invitation as he feels comfortable offering, and some of the tension drains from Jaskier's shoulders. He shuffles back into Geralt's body. Geralt doesn't protest, and Jaskier relaxes completely with an ease that's as enviable as it is baffling.

Usually he doesn't require an invitation, sharing space and heat whether Geralt needs it or not; maybe it's about time Geralt stopped trying to pretend it's unwelcome. And it's... _nice_ to have Jaskier here, so soft, trusting Geralt will take care of him just as he's taken care of Geralt.

Geralt doesn't know how to express his thanks properly, nor how to apologise for whatever it was he did, doesn't know how to say any of it, but he can keep Jaskier safe and warm; maybe that's enough.

_~ fin ~_

**Author's Note:**

> It would be putting it too strongly to say "this song is what Jaskier was singing to Geralt", but 1) it wouldn't leave me alone while I was writing and 2) it's a hauntingly beautiful song and you should listen to it anyway. Joey Batey and Madeleine Hyland a cappella? It's gorgeous.
> 
> I can't seem to embed it in the endnotes but here's a link: [Elsa's Song by The Amazing Devil](https://youtu.be/vDN8yYWAZI4)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] much more](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23426428) by [Chantress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chantress/pseuds/Chantress)




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